


Second Chances

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Reunions, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: It's been seven years since they've seen each other and Trowa is hoping this time, it's for keeps.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moreena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/gifts), [Dark Stars (ivorybyrd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorybyrd/gifts), [SoftNocturne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftNocturne/gifts), [ShinigamiSey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinigamiSey/gifts).



> So this started as a photo prompt thing started by Crown-of-Winterthorne and then exploded between me, Moreena, and Dark Stars (ivorybyrd) who were fangirling over the picture like idiots. xD Of course, I had to write a little something for it. ^.^
> 
> Hope you ladies like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

They met by the rocky pier, reduced to shuffling feet and shy smiles. Seven years. Seven long years since they’d last seen each other, but to him, Quatre hadn’t aged a day. His flaxen hair was longer, the ends of his tousled curls were twisted up into braids secured at the base of his head. His eyes reflected the sky, reminding Trowa of those mood rings you see at the checkout counter of novelty stores. He looked so carefree with his bare feet, damp and covered with sand. The hem of his faded blue jeans rolled up to reveal dainty ankles. **  
**

Trowa had never seen anything so fucking breathtaking in all his life.

They stumbled through the awkward niceties. The, “You look good,” and, “How’ve you been?” He was surprised to learn that Quatre had left WEI, citing the reason as, “Not wanting to die of a heart attack before I’m thirty.”

“So what are you doing now?”

Quatre perched himself on the overhanging lip of a rock and stared down at his wiggling, sand-covered toes. “I’m an antiques dealer. Dorothy Catalonia and I have a partnership. I suppose you could call it the old, ‘The enemy of thy enemy is thy friend,’ or something like that.”

“Interesting,” Trowa mused, wondering if it would be considered invasive to ask. “Are you two…?”

“Goodness, no!” Quatre tipped his head back, his laugh carrying like bells across the wind. He shot him a sideways grin, showing off those adorable dimples Trowa had never forgotten, still dreamed about kissing in his private, most cherished fantasies. “Trowa, really.”

“What?”

“What do you mean “what”? I’m gay, remember?”

He shifted and mumbled an apology, though he wasn’t sure why. “I - you just never - we just -”

“I didn’t think I had to,” Quatre drawled, his mouth quirked at the corners. “I’m pretty sure it was obvious even to Sahid Al Hakasan.”

“Who?”

The blond rolled his eyes. “Rashid’s father, remember? You met him a few times. Guy was blind as a bat.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Now that he mentioned it, he did remember an older gentleman who looked much like the original Maguanac leader, but with white hair and clouded eyes. If memory served him, he also couldn’t hear very well either.

“Don’t be. I honestly didn’t expect you to remember his name.” He gave Trowa another thorough once-over. “You really do look good. Mature.”

“Mature? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that.”

“Take is for what it is. A compliment.”

“Okay then. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Quatre quipped, scooting forward to hop of the rock. He accepted Trowa’s outstretched hand and dropped down in front of him, wobbling a little. Trowa stabilized him with an arm around his back, his nose catching a subtle hint of oranges and jasmine.

There was a moment of hesitance, of stillness. That moment you see in every sappy romance flick where the protagonist and his love interest stare into each other’s eyes as though nothing else exists. That moment which inevitably leads to a kiss. _The_ kiss. The heart pounding crescendo that the previous sixty minutes of the film was slowly building up to. The existential declaration of love sealed with a taste of passion.

As cheesy as it sounded, Trowa couldn’t help but feel like the hero of his own romantic movie. The setting was perfect. The mood primed for ardor, the atmosphere prickling with anticipation. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Standing at the edge of the shore where the rolling waves of the tumultuous ocean threatened to sweep them away from the safety of land. The metaphorical irony was not lost on him. Love was raw, passion was violent. Wild, untamed, terrifying, a risk that could destroy your life, your heart. Yet it was far too tempting to resist.

Holding Quatre this close again felt like torture, a thousand stab wounds through his chest, but it also felt like home. Like nothing could ever go wrong again. It brought back so many emotions, so many cold, lonely nights, and so many regrets. There’d been too many ‘what ifs’ already. He’d let seven years slip by, guarding a wounded and damaged heart. A man who’d once routinely put his life on the line without blinking an eye had become someone crippled by his own fear to live life to the fullest.

He wasn’t about to pass up this chance again. Looking down into the face of the only man he’d ever loved, it seemed as if the cosmos were cheering them on. The stars, planets, and moons aligned as if they’d been waiting for this moment for eons.

He leaned down, seeking forgiveness, absolution granted in a single, unifying kiss and his heart soared when Quatre acquiesced, reciprocated with a soft sigh. Finally tasting what he’d been so hungry for, craved for so long was like being born again. Baptized. Saved from a life of desolation and missed opportunities. He pulled the blond in tight against him, deepening the fervent kiss. Each passing moment revived his soul and healed a lifetime of pain.

Quatre’s palm settled against his cheek and jaw, his thumb stroking just beneath his eye and Trowa wanted to weep. To fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, beg Quatre to marry him, to spend the rest of his life with him. He pulled back slightly when the blond whimpered and pressed their foreheads together, still in desperate need of this intimate contact.

Quatre’s soft, warm breath ghosted across his face, heating the skin chilled from the wind. Gazing down into misty eyes and kiss-swollen lips, Trowa mourned the seven years they could have spent living and loving, building a life together.

Quatre’s expression was pained and he shook his head with an imploring, “Don’t…don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Regret. I understand why you ran and I can forgive you that. You were frightened, but…” He looked up into Trowa’s eyes and dragged his thumb across his lower lip. “The past is done. Let’s bury it and forget about it. The only thing that matters now is that you’re here.”

He clutched his love’s face between his hands. There was so much to say, but he simply didn’t know where to begin. He settled for, “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” and hoped it was enough.

“I need to know, Trowa. Are you going to run again? Because if you do, that will be it. I cannot keep doing this. I love you, but this is it. It’s now, or never.”

He pressed their lips together, hissing feverishly against the other man’s mouth. “It’s now and forever. I swear to you. I love you so much, Quatre. I’m here to stay if you’ll have me.”

Quatre kissed him again and whispered against his cheek. “Of course I’ll have you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve only had a massive crush on you since I was fifteen.”

Trowa pulled back and graced him with a wry smile. “Is it still just a crush?”

Quatre tapped his cheek playfully and took his hand, placing it over his heart. “You tell me. I know you’ve always been able to feel what’s inside here.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

He smiled and leaned up for another kiss which Trowa readily returned, pushing his tongue past the flimsy barrier of Quatre’s lips. He was already a man addicted with no desire to overcome this sweetest of vices. When they broke apart again, they were both flushed and breathless, laughing like a couple of kids who were relieved that their first attempt wasn’t as awkward as they’d feared.

“So what do we do now?” 

Quatre grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I do believe you owe me a walk along the beach, for starters.”

“Followed by dinner?”

“If you’re buying.”

Trowa laughed and tugged him in close against his side as they strolled across the wet sand. “The world’s richest man and he wants me to buy.”

“I’m far from the world’s richest man. Especially now.”

“Any regrets?”

Quatre glanced up at him and shook his head. “Not anymore.”

 

_End._


End file.
